‘You seem steady enough now. You can take it from here, Ms. Anderson.’
Kelsey knew she was nodding and pulling a petulant face at her knight in shining armour, though she was struggling to keep her eyes open.
Kelsey took the keys from his hand, curling them in her palm and bringing them in tightly towards her chest. ‘Night, Will,’ came out in a garbled slur as she passed through the open door into the dark hall.
‘Night then,’ was his doleful reply as Kelsey slammed the door closed with an insouciant kick that had in it all the unintentional force of someone who’s drank near-on a full bottle of bubbly and countless sloe-gin chasers and had to be carried home by a very sexy, very put out work colleague.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune’
(Julius Caesar)
Please forget that kiss happened! Also, I’m usually much better at it than that, well not much better, to be honest, but I don’t usually pass out. Cringing. Your mate, Kelsey.
Her fingers had been hovering over the send arrow for two whole minutes as she weighed up the impact of the words on the screen. Just send it. I have to contact him soon, he’ll think I’m avoiding him, which, of course, I am. But he’ll be a bit crushed. Won’t he? That’s why he hasn’t called me, he’s off sulking about it.
It had taken twenty-four hours of bed rest, trashy American reality TV streamed onto her new tablet, a multi-pack of crisps, and a large bottle of ice-cold nearly flat cola – very important that it was not fizzy – for the sickening fug of the hangover to shift, only for the queasiness to be replaced with something else: crushing shame and embarrassment. She’d missed work. She’d let Norma down. And she’d kissed a colleague.
‘Ugh, why doesn’t life have a delete button for memories?’ Kelsey shuddered as she sent the text message on its way and slid down under the covers again, replaying what she could remember of the drunken snog. Within seconds her phone buzzed into life.
Don’t worry about it. Pretty girls swoon in my arms all the time. Drink plenty of water, W x
‘Will’s got his swagger back? Oh well, that’s that then. Dealt with. I am never, not ever, drinking again. Ever!’ Chastising herself out loud, she sank back into a fitful sleep. The hangover had claimed the last days of July. Soon she’d be back at work, herding the late summer crowds and steering clear of devilishly handsome workmates.
* * *
High season. The words ‘no vacancies’ shone out in red lettering from every B&B window and the theatre billboards were pasted over with ‘sold out’ banners. The pavements were perilously busy as visitors in search of some culture, clotted cream, and classical acting shuffled along the kerbsides next to end-to-end traffic on the main routes into the town.
Kelsey allowed herself to become immersed in all the hustle and bustle, just another bit-part player in tourist town life, totally at ease in her now familiar role as a tour guide. The days were long and the frenetic energy of the school holidays had a fun all of its own.
Over the course of the first half of August she managed to meet Lukas and Valeria for lunch on the ticket barge one Saturday and Myrtle and Gianfranco for iced coffees at the main theatre bar, but Will was nowhere to be seen again. In passing, Gianfranco had beckoned her into the barge for a conversation, whispering in his thick accent.
‘Will is in London. He got a call back for the film he hoped for. The actor who got the part originally, he did not want it.’
‘Will’s got a second shot at that movie he’s been mooning over? Wow! Has anybody actually asked him what film it is, or which part?’
‘He said he swore to be secret… and he would not tell us anyway… in case it does not work out. He is a man with proud feelings.’
Kelsey nodded, thinking of how robust Will had been when she’d rejected him, twice, but how fragile his feelings about his acting career were. So far she’d managed to keep the secret of their drunken snog to herself and had no plans to spill the gossip to Gianfranco.
‘I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?’
Even though she wanted him to come back to town with news of his big break, for now, she was glad of the respite from Will’s attentions. And so Kelsey’s busy summer bustled on. The only thing spoiling it was her increasing awareness of its rapidly hastening end and the insistent memories of Jonathan Hathaway she’d tried to bury away.
For a while she was able to convince herself that she wasn’t casting furtive glances towards the Willow Studio each time she passed, or that she hadn’t gone back to the pink café where she’d first met Jonathan just so she could sit quietly and think about him for ten minutes among the chaotic August crowds. Each time she let her mind wander towards him, she would be overwhelmed by a sadness very much like grief. Writing to Mirren, she’d confessed as much.
Missing someone who’s right there in the very same town as you, alive and well and just getting on with their life is much worse than missing someone on, say, the other side of the world, because if they’re nearby and they still don’t come and see you, then you really know all hope is lost. They simply don’t want you.
* * *
Mid-August brought with it cooler breezes and a gentler touch than the scorching temperatures of flaming June and July. The mid-afternoon heat frequently built towards rain showers, light and warm and scented with dust and cut grass, so that the cracked earth in the town’s flower beds turned a rich brown once again, and every flowering thing along the banks of the Avon prepared for the summer’s grand finale, one last glorious bloom.
Planning to use both her cameras on the night, Kelsey shopped online for rolls of film for her new assignment, looking forward to the gala with a mixture of excitement and nerves. She couldn’t help but tell herself that this gig could establish her reputation in town as an event photographer. Maybe she really could stay on in Stratford at the end of the season. If she pulled this off, she could get more commissions, maybe even build a career here. She had two weeks left to master her new digital camera, and so she practised whenever she could, which wasn’t all that often now that she had to pick up some of Will’s tour groups because he was off meeting film producers, trying to convince them he was the man for the role, whatever that role was.
Her rota for the last two weeks of August was full even before it incorporated the gala set-up hours, but there they were, in bold type to distinguish them from the tours:
August 19th – orientation on gala site
August 24th – costume fitting – performance space set-up
August 29th – dress rehearsal – final set up
August 30th – gala evening – contract terminates. End of summer season.
Those words, ‘end of summer season,’ terrified her. She’d have sat down and wept over them had her rota not fallen onto the doormat at St Ninian’s Close with a smart cream envelope of thick parchment with her address in scratchy calligraphy. The card inside was embossed with silver bells and ribbons. It read:
Ms Kelsey Anderson, plus one guest,
is invited to attend the marriage of Ms Norma Arden and Mr Gianfranco Petrucci
Stratford-upon-Avon Registry Office
12 noon, September 3rd
Drinks reception to follow at The Osprey Hotel Brasserie
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘When little fears grow great, great love grows there’
(Hamlet)
The broad wooden door was studded with metal buttons like a Christmas ham pierced with cloves. Kelsey rapped on the brass knocker. ‘Anybody home?’
Gnarled and brittle twists of wisteria branches, now sleeping after their spectacular show in the spring, framed the door. Kelsey had only just missed their blooms when she’d arrived in town on that dry, dusty day back in June.
Still in her uniform, Kelsey had headed straight for the big Jacobean house in the centre of town where the gala was set to take place. Getting no reply, K
elsey peeped her head around the side of the house where stood wide wrought-iron gates shining with silver paint and adorned with ornate theatrical masks of comedy and tragedy. A step ladder blocked Kelsey’s entrance into the gardens beyond. A workman was fastening a rainbow arched sign to the tops of the gateposts. It read, Pretty Follies: Gala of Theatre and Music. As he climbed down to let Kelsey past she thanked him, remarking jokingly, ‘The last thing I need is to walk under a ladder and be cursed with even more bad luck.’
The gates opened onto an orchard where the grass had been left to grow long and wild all summer. It was dotted here and there with tough little violas and bee orchids. The low trees were laden with pears and crab apples that already had the mellow scent of autumn on their skins. There was something else in the air too, something unmistakeable that prickled Kelsey’s nostrils the very moment she walked into the quiet enclosure of the orchard.
Mulberries. But where are they?
Through a blue slatted gate in the near distance, she could just make out a single mulberry tree standing in the centre of a mossy lawn. Kelsey inhaled deeply, revisiting her memory of Will and the spice of the fruit on his fingertips. Shaking the memory away, she headed through the blue gate and onto the lawn, immediately slipping off her pumps so she could spread her toes in the springy moss.
The flower borders frothed with simple white camomile and tobacco flowers shining out like white stars. The pin-cushion heads of scabious nodded on thin stems above their spreading mounds of green foliage and scatterings of Wedgwood blue forget-me-nots mingled with Kelsey’s favourites, the cornflowers. At the backs of the borders were the roses bursting out everywhere in colourful explosions like frilled flamenco skirts. On every rosebush swelled the last budded heads of the summer, pursed like lips waiting to be kissed. All they needed was a light summer rain and a blaze of sunlight and they too would reveal themselves. This was indeed the perfect spot for the gala evening. Even before it was decorated, Kelsey was enchanted.
People buzzed to and fro like hoverflies. Trestle tables were being set up, tents and marquees of all shapes and sizes were being erected and long ropes of fairy lights were being strung up so that each footpath and discovery space would be illuminated on the night.
No one had noticed her yet, except the figure approaching quickly from the back door of the big house, striding across the lawn towards her.
‘You’re here?’ Jonathan called out.
She watched him approach in his Converse and crumpled sky-blue shirt tucked messily into dark jeans. He had his sleeves rolled up, his silver watch glinting in the sun. She hadn’t set eyes on him since that night in the theatre. There’d been his text and the awkward phone call when he’d told her about the gala photography job, but actually seeing him in the flesh again brought back a flood of feelings, indignant, defensive and, against her better judgement, longing and warm.
‘How are you?’ he asked in earnest, leaning close and kissing her cheek, his eyes full of light.
Kelsey had forgotten how beautiful his smile was, and how open and expressive his face, but he was far paler than he had been on the June day they’d met at the pink café, testament to how confined to the indoor theatre he had been all summer.
‘It’s nice to see you again.’ Kelsey couldn’t help but smile for him, his presence was so invigorating. Inwardly, she rankled. How can he be such a phoney? Just remember, he’s the jelly to Peony’s peanut butter. Yuk.
‘I’m showing you around today. Did you know that?’
‘Nope. But I do now.’ Kelsey wondered if it was a coincidence, or had he requested to be the one to do her orientation? Surely not? Hadn’t Norma helped the director out by putting together the rota? She didn’t even know Jonathan.
‘So, where do we start?’ asked Kelsey, trying to be business-like and drawing out her notebook. ‘I want to recce the grounds and make a plan of all the things I need to photograph on the night. It’ll require some carefully choreographed timings in case I miss something important.’
‘This way.’ Jonathan gently touched his fingertips to her elbow as he directed her towards the big house. It lasted only a fraction of a second but it was long enough for Kelsey to have to bite her lip to stop herself melting into a dew.
Kelsey knew the house well, she’d guided her groups through it many times that summer. She couldn’t help but share her enthusiasm for the beautiful old place. ‘Hey, Jonathan? You see how the house is all wonky? It’s leaning out over the street?’
‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded, looking up at the buckling slate roof and warped leaded casements with their grainy, greenish glass panes.
‘That’s because the wall facing the street was built with timber beams and wattle and daub but the back of the building is just made of brick. Bricks were a lot less expensive than timber when the house was built four centuries ago. The weight of the wooden frontage has made the whole building lean over.’
‘You don’t say? You know, the oldest buildings in Okie are only a couple of hundred years old? That’s why I love England. This stuff blows my mind. And it’s not just the material stuff, it’s the poetry that gets me the most.’ Jonathan seemed to collect himself before turning to point towards a low stage that two engineers from the main theatre were constructing on the south lawn to the other side of the house. ‘That stage is for the court masque performance. Have you heard of it? It’s called Love Restored? I hadn’t. Anyway, some actors from the local college are going to perform it. You’ll definitely want to shoot that. They’re on first, at around seven.’
Kelsey scribbled a note in her book. ‘Ben Jonson Masque. Got it. I studied masques at university. I love their quirkiness. I remember this one being short and sweet, like most masques, and full of jokes and love songs and poetry. It’s a defence of true love against greed and money, if I remember correctly.’
Jonathan smiled down at her bowed head as she wrote. ‘Next stop, the treehouse. Ladies and gentlemen, please follow your tour guide, Jonathan Hathaway.’
He was already striding ahead towards a tall oak tree on the farthest side of the south lawn. Kelsey watched him go, smiling in spite of herself, even as she thought of Peony’s tell-all interview for the local rag. Given that he was as good as engaged and so prone to flirting with other women, Kelsey felt remarkably safe and at ease with him.
She followed him to the treehouse, stopping at the wide steps constructed around the tall trunk. Sweeping his arm, Jonathan let Kelsey pass up them first and in through the wooden door. It all looked at least a hundred years old.
‘This is gorgeous, isn’t it? Get up here.’ She smiled to see him standing at the foot of the steps, arms folded, seemingly just watching her with a grin. He bounded up three steps at a time.
The little wooden house was wreathed in variegated ivy and had a door high enough for Kelsey to pass through without lowering her head, but Jonathan had to crouch a little to get inside. As he closed the door, the dark enclosed them, save from the diffused light from the coloured glass panes of a small leaded window.
His voice broke the silence. ‘You know the Italian company that brought Romeo and Juliet to town this summer? They’re doing the balcony scene here. One of their company musicians is going to play the lyre down there on the bottom steps, and Juliet’s going to appear at this window.’
Giddy with the feeling of being alone with this beautiful man, Kelsey lifted the window clasp, letting the light in, and sticking her head out the window, called out in the broad Scottish accent of a scolding Edinburgh Ma. ‘Romeo, Romeo, where aboots art thou Romeo? Yur tea’s ready. Get in here now!’
She heard Jonathan’s throaty laugh and turned round in the hopes of catching his smile. The excited exchange of energy between them was there again, like electricity galvanising them into higher and higher spirits. Kelsey tried to pull the window closed, but found the ancient clasp was jammed.
‘Oh no, I haven’t broken it, have I?’
Jonathan reached out to try the clasp, b
rushing Kelsey’s hand with his own, his body so close that Kelsey’s imagination played delightful, suggestive tricks. You could just slide your hands over that taut stomach… run your fingers across that broad back. We’re close enough to kiss… if he weren’t taken, that is.
‘Got it!’ Jonathan freed the mechanism and pulled the window closed. The soft light through the coloured panes lit their faces in soft pinks, blues, and greens. She had never wanted to touch anyone so much.
‘Jonathan?’ she said, not knowing quite what she would say next.
‘Yeah?’
‘I… wish I’d gotten to know you better this summer,’ she heard herself say, as she reached tentative fingertips towards his hands which were hanging by his side.
Jonathan said not a word, slipping his arms around her waist and slowly spreading his fingers out, pressing his palms into the small of her back, drawing her whole body into him. She rested her head against the soft cotton of his crumpled shirt and there in the dark they each let out a slow suspirating breath.
He held her tight, just for a moment, exquisitely, but with economy. No sooner had he lowered his face to let his lips gently brush her forehead, than he stepped back, holding her at arm’s length, looking into her eyes. ‘Kelsey… your friendship this summer has been so important to me. Thank you.’ There was deep affection and longing in his voice, but Kelsey heard only formality and restraint.
He leaned forward once more and kissed her forehead, before taking her hand and leading her towards the little door and out into the sun and heat again. The sudden light strained their eyes, and they separated once more so they could each search pockets and bags for sunglasses.
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